Aang's Halloween Nightmare WIP
by furubafan74
Summary: Zukaang. Aang goes to a party, and is drugged, but is rescued by Zuko. disturbing themes, gay romance, don't like/don't read. I don't have time to type up the rest today, so I am uploading this as a WIP. The rest will be typed up over the next few days. Happy Halloween! Modern AU


Title: Aang's Halloween Nightmare

Rating: Teen

Ships: Zukaang

_(Aang)_

Everything was fuzzy, distorted. Sound came to his ears as if down a long tunnel. A long, _underwater _tunnel. Feeling disconnected from his body, he was vaguely aware that Jet was helping him up the stairs. Someone must have slipped something into his drink. Unlike most of his peers, Aang never drank anything stronger than Mountain Dew.

Jet shouldered open a door. Thank god for his friends, Aang thought. He flopped him down on the mattress and moved away. Aang's eyes drifted shut. Sleep. That was what he needed. He'd conk out, sleep off whatever the hell had been put into his drink, then go home. No harm, no foul. As long as he didn't embarrass his parents again, they didn't care what he did. He felt hands at his waist and tried ineffectually to shove them away. His hands wouldn't respond at first and it took him several tries to succeed. He was almost asleep when the hands returned, more forcefully than before. This time, his arms wouldn't move at all.

"No. Shtop," he slurred. He wasn't sure he'd managed to speak at all. The hands started to pull his jeans down. "Shtop," he repeated.

"Shut up," a familiar voice hissed. Where had he heard that voice before? "Why aren't these stupid roofies working yet," his assailant muttered. Jet. Oh god. Aang recognized the voice now. Why had Jet slipped him a date rape drug? They were _friends_.

"No!" he said as loud as he could manage. He had to fight against the drugs tooth and nail now. "Shtop, Jet!"

"Hey! He said _stop_, fuckhole! Now get off him!" Aang struggled to open his eyes at the sound of a boot smacking flesh, followed by a curse. There was another kick followed by a thud. Hands began messing with his pants again and Aang whimpered faintly as darkness lapped over his head. Jet must have beaten his would-be rescuer. At least he would be unconscious when Jet violated him.

_(Zuko)_

Zuko didn't know why he'd bother coming to this fucking party. It wasn't like he didn't have _better_ things to do after work on the night before Halloween. Like, well, watch horror movies on cable. It would certainly be better than hanging around a bunch of piss-drunk snobs who viewed him as worthless shit. He had a long ride ahead of him, and a full bladder. He'd piss and then he'd head home. That would make bitch-princess Katara happy at least. Maybe when she realized he was leaving she'd stop glaring daggers at him.

"Shtop, Jet!" Zuko froze at the sound of the slurred voice coming from the room he'd just passed. Bladder forgotten, he kicked the door open with his motorcycle boot to discover Jet Ho on top of a barely conscious Aang Watanabe. He snarled at Jet to get off of him, and kicked him in the ribs when he failed to comply quickly enough for Zuko. Five seconds was plenty of time to comply with such a simple request. The first kick didn't knock Ho off of Watanabe so Zuko kicked him again. He crashed hard onto the floor. Zuko debated internally whether to indulge in another kick when he remembered Watanabe. He leaned over the bed and tugged the kid's pants up, earning another faint whimper before the kid completely passed out. Probably thought he was that dickweed Jet. He gathered Watanabe up and headed out into the hallway. He'd noticed a back window. It would be an easy jump to the ground, and he'd slip off to where he'd left his motorcycle. He sure as fuck couldn't leave the kid there. Ho would rape Watanabe and blame Zuko without batting an eyelash. Spoiled motherfucker.

Once they'd reached his bike he straddled it, settling Watanabe in front of him. At least it wasn't raining this year. Or snowing. An unconscious passenger would be difficult enough to handle without the weather fucking things up worse. He snugged Watanabe back against him. It made him ten kinds of shitbag to be enjoying this, but Guru Goody-Goody was seriously good looking, and Zuko hadn't gotten any in months. He drove slowly and carefully, equally determined to not crash (or draw police attention) and to drag out being in such close contact with Watanabe. The kid hadn't stirred at all by the time they reached Zuko's apartment, so he carried him up the stairs and tucked him into the lone bed. Zuko lit some candles and settled into a chair by the bed. He would sit watch over Watanabe all night, monitoring him closely for any signs of an adverse reaction to whatever Ho had given.

_(Aang)_

Someone was driving a jackhammer into Aang's temple. God. What the heck had happened to him? Had he been hit by a semi? BAM! BAM! BAM! What was that noise? He started to crack open one eye, but pain lanced through his brain like a laser beam. He groaned faintly. The BAM!s stopped.

"You're awake. Sorry about the noise. Some fucking flies came in. Didn't intend to wake you." Floorboards creaked quietly. "Do you remember anything about the party?" Not really. Brief flashes. Not feeling well. Jet doing...something. He couldn't remember what, but he knew it had been bad. He sucked in a breath when he remembered _what_ Jet had done. Rape. Jet had raped him. A small sob escaped him. "I'll take that as a yes," Aang heard the voice mutter. He forced his eyes open, wincing.

"What day is it?

"Relax, Rip Van Winkle. You haven't been out that long. Only a few hours. It's about three a.m. on Halloween." Aang peered blearily at his companion. Zuko Ohasi. His parents had always been quite clear with him when it came to Zuko: He was to stay away from Zuko, and if he embarrassed his parents again, he would end up like Zuko. "He didn't succeed. Jet. He didn't rape you." Aang relaxed, relieved. "I'll get you some tea. Your head must hurt like a sonuvabitch." Zuko padded through the door. Aang assumed he was heading to the kitchen. He looked around. Zuko's home wasn't the Ritz Carlton, but it wasn't a flea-pit either. It was...cozy. Some of the paint was peeling, and the ceiling had a few cracks in it, but it was clean, and had good-quality furniture.

"Here's your tea. My uncle's blend," Zuko said as he returned, carrying a steaming mug. It had a kitten on it, with a little speech balloon that said "World's Best Uncle." Zuko set it on the nightstand, then helped Aang sit up against the headboard before giving him the mug. Aang wrapped his fingers around it, greedily soaking in its warmth. He took a shaky sip, imagining that he could feel it going to work on his headache.

"It's good. Thank you." Zuko nodded, studying him. Aang stared back, curious. He'd heard lots of gossip about Zuko (a lot of it from his parents), most of it contradictory.

Zuko sighed, a harsh exhalation of breath. "Go ahead, ask. Everybody does."

"Did you drop out of school or graduate early?" Zuko looked startled.

"Graduated early." Aang nodded gingerly. That was what he'd thought. He figured that Zuko had thought he was staring at his scar. Aang knew that Ozai Ohasi had inflicted on his son after Zuko had done something to embarrass him. His parents had gossiped about it, of course, speculating on everything from criminal offenses to dating the wrong person.

"Could I have some more tea?" Aang asked. While Zuko was out of the room, Aang took a closer look at the room. There was a small bookcase against one wall, stuffed with books. There were more on the bedside stand. So Zuko was a reader. Nice. He studied the books closest to him. Nathaniel Hawthorne. Washington Irving. H.P. Lovecraft. Richard Laymon. Huh. Zuko liked the same authors he did. Aang wondered what else they had in common. Zuko returned with the refilled mug. Aang accepted it gratefully, taking small sips, hoping the tea would help him stay awake. He was tired, but he was afraid to fall asleep, afraid of what he would dream. He also had to get home before too much longer. Sleeping at Katara's house was one thing. Sleeping at _Zuko's_ house was something else entirely. His parents didn't want him near Zuko, felt that it would reflect badly on them. On their precious image. Aang being gay was bad enough, in their eyes. Spending the night, alone, with another guy? They'd immediately decide that Aang was slept with Zuko. If they decided that, there was _no_ doubt in Aang's mind that they would follow through on their threats. Zuko seemed to have a good life, but _he_ had graduated from high school. Aang was still a senior. He'd be screwed. Especially if his parents followed through on their threats to inject Liquid Plumber into his eyes and blind him. They sat in silence, Aang's eyelids growing steadily heavier.

"So. Um. You like to read?" Maybe talking with Zuko would help him stay awake.

"Yeah."

"What else do you like to do?"

"Depends." Good god! Getting Zuko to talk was like pulling teeth!

"You're not very talkative, are you?"

"No."

"Tell me about your family?"

"My dad's abusive. My sister's psycho. My mom's dead. So's my uncle." At least Aang had gotten more than one word out of him that time. He was about to ask another question when Zuko abruptly left the room.

_(Zuko)_

Fuck. How the hell had Guru Goody Goody managed to hit a nerve like that? He'd spent _years_ building his shell, his defenses. If nobody could get close to him, nobody could hurt him. Zuko took deep breaths as he set about making another pot of tea. The best thing would be for Watanabe to get some sleep. When he woke up, Zuko would take him home, and that would be that. His uncle's Dreamless Sleep blend would send Watanabe off to Dreamland. When the tea was ready, he carried it back to the bedroom. Watanabe wouldn't get any farther underneath Zuko's skin. He would make sure of that. He gave the mug to the kid.

"Drink." Watanabe obediently took a sip.

"This is a different type of tea, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Tell me about your family." As Zuko remembered it, Dreamless Sleep worked very quickly. And if Watanabe was busy talking, he couldn't ask any more questions.

"I'm an only child, and my birth wasn't planned. Or welcomed, for that matter. As soon as I was born, my mother had a hysterectomy. My father had had a vasectomy shortly after they learned of they learned of the pregnancy. The only reason they didn't have an abortion was because they thought it would look bad. My parents are very image-conscious," Aang said bitterly. He sipped some more tea.

"I was ignored most of the time growing up. My parents hired strings of nannies, mostly illegal immigrants who spoke little to no English. Any time there was company, or we were where we could be seen, of course, they were perfect, adoring parents. They stopped hiring nannies when I was seven. Lonely, I began making up imaginary friends to talk to, to play with. Every time they caught me, I was severely punished. I began self-mutilating as a way to let out my emotions. And to defy my parents. A son who cuts himself would look bad. One time I screwed up. Cut too deep. I almost hit an artery. I did hit a vein, and I had to be taken to the hospital. The doctor decided to admit to a Psych Ward. My parents were furious. It looked bad, they said. They tried to prevent it, but the doctor overruled them, called in Child Protective Services. My father was so angry, he broke my had. He tried to sue the hospital, saying that _they_ caused they injury, but it was dismissed." Aang flexed his left hand unconsciously, before drinking more tea.

"That's how they made all their money. Lawsuits. They would do stupid things with stuff. Deliberately misused things, hoping to get injured. There's more money in a suit if there's an injury involved, you know." Zuko did not know. "I wonder how many warning labels are because of my parents. Any time they started to develop a reputation, started _looking bad_, we'd move to another state. They used to sneak me into movie theaters. Well, not _sneak_, exactly, but they would buy tickets, then they would leave and buy tickets to another movie, so that it looked like the movie theater had let me into a R-rated movie without an adult. Then they'd sue the theater. They stopped doing that when I turned seventeen, though.

"My parents tell me that they'll do all sorts of things to me if I embarrass them the way I did when I went to the Psych Ward for six months, even though those were six of the happiest months of my life. They say they'll blind me with drain cleaner. Or disown me and kick me out to live on my own, like you do.

"They gossip about you, you know. 'Course, they gossip about everyone. They even gossip about the neighbors' cats if there's nothing juicier." Zuko stared at Watanabe. Who the fuck knew that such a simple question could cause such a flood of talking. Or that the seemingly happy, well-adjusted Watanabe would be so...complex, so miserable underneath that pretty face. "That's how I know how you'd gotten your scar. Katara says that your scar makes you ugly, but I think Katara's full of sh-crap. She's full of crap. Especially when she says that you're a horrible person." Watanabe was almost asleep by this point, his words beginning to be mumbled a bit. "I think you're very nice, and very handsome, too, even though my parents would be mad if they knew that. They're homophobic. I hate them." Watanabe had finally fallen asleep, and Zuko gently removed the mug form his hands before it spilled. He'd learned more about Watanabe in ten minutes then he knew about most of his employees. One thing he knew after listening to the kid prattle on for so long: He could not let his parents have him back. He just couldn't. Who the fuck knew how much other shit they'd inflicted on their son? Zuko had thought _his_ upbringing was bad. At least he'd had a mother and an uncle who'd cared. Watanabe hadn't had anyone. No wonder he'd ended up in a Psych Ward.


End file.
